flowers at your doorstep
by cursedhazel
Summary: "sorry that i've been screaming to emo music in my apartment for the last hour, but i promise i'm fine. also, there's a hole in your basketball shorts. also, you're kinda cute when you blush like that." or, in which Annabeth is a hot mess college student with a need for something new in her life, and he shows at her door announcing that he was her new neighbor. au. one-shot.


It was times like these when Annabeth Chase didn't care about her dignity. It was her home, small and quaint and rank with the scent of cat piss, and she couldn't care less about what she looked like dancing like a fool in it.

She thinks she deserves it. She worked her job for a grueling 8 hours, she gave away the last of the coffee in the pot to her coworker, and her research paper was due in less than 24 hours. Her hair never looked like more of a rat's nest, and she had a permanent brown stain in her only pressed white blouse.

So she could dance if she wanted to.

She kicks off her orthopedic shoes as she turns up the bass on her stereo. The music fills the entire 400 square feet of her living space, and she's breathing it in, every lyric, every note, every beat. The inflatable man in front of car dealerships shines through her as she waves her arms above her head and stomps around her thrifted rug. Her tangled blonde hair whips in front of her face, and she runs her hands along the curves of her body, stripping herself of her stuffy button up and prancing in only her slacks and an ill-fitting camisole she found sitting in the bottom of her closet. She wipes away the dirty looks customers through her when she pushed past them without an apology. She steps up onto her sofa, the words of her favorite song bubbling up in her throat, and she lets them out so loud, it almost hurts. In her fist is a pretend microphone, and she closes her eyes before she jumps off the cushions, landing hard on her feet, and breathing. Her movements are fluid and wretched. Her heart beats fast, and her contacts stung her eyes and sweat drips from her brow, and it hurt, but she let herself feel it and forget it.

This is where she was.

It wrecks her, and every bit of it comes out as she continues to yell into her hand, into the air, into the sound, out loud, right there.

Calloused fingers run over her scalp. She pants for a few seconds, then the next song plays, and it begins again.

And she deserves it.

They let her go on for a full twenty minutes before there's a knock at her door. She considers not answering it and letting them get the police to bust her door down, but after they knock a second time, Annabeth turns down her radio, wipes the sweat from above her lip, and unlocks the door.

And to her surprise, it's not even her landlord, let alone the police.

"I heard screaming and music, and that's never an equation for a good time," says the man behind the door. He looks her up and down before raising an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

The man looks no older than her; he has the haircut of a 16-year-old boy and the build of someone in his mid-twenties, and his outfit choice of basketball shorts and a t-shirt with a giant hole in its side leaves much to be desired. Though, she supposes she can't talk.

Annabeth clicks her tongue. "Genuinely? People never want a genuine answer to an "are you okay?""

The man - which is a generous yet respectful title, so she'll continue with that - looks taken, aback, away, she didn't know. He looks at her with one eyebrow stuck in its raised position, and his head tilts to the side, not unlike a puppy's when its heard something it wasn't sure it wanted to hear. "I don't know. I guess I do?"

Annabeth rests her elbow on the door handle and pushes her hair over her shoulder. The man shifts his weight and crosses then uncrosses his arms several times. Annabeth looks around his face for several seconds. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. "Well, my answer is no. I'm not okay. Hope you are though, sorry to disturb you."

She goes to close the door and to retreat to the low bumps of sound coming from her personal sanctuary, and perhaps strip the rest of her clothes and let herself free from the restriction of her too tight pants, but something blocks the door. Her only response is to push harder, which brings a yelp of pain from the man.

"Ow!" He jumps back and swears under his breath. Annabeth reopens the doors and peers out. He hops awkwardly on one foot, both hands cradling his aching one, and Annabeth notices that he's wearing two different colored socks. She bites her lip as to not outwardly laugh at him hunched over and close to tears. "That was my foot!"

"Your foot had no business being in my door," Annabeth says, the corner of her mouth turning up. "But I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

He looks up at her with pain written in his dark green eyes and high cheekbones. She twirls a piece of hair around her finger.

"It's fine," he says. He straightens again to his full height and leans against the wall opposite her door. "It didn't hurt that bad, I'm just a baby. And it made you smile, so..."

She was smiling, wasn't she? She didn't even realize it. She hums a little to herself. "I guess it did."

He grins at her, showing off the slight gap between his front teeth and the dimple in his right cheek. Annabeth feels herself grow a little hot (or even hotter than she already felt). The smile on her own face grows a tad.

"So, uh, do you wanna talk about it? I don't have anything else to do, and you don't really know me, so there wouldn't really be any consequences in telling me. But then again, I'm also a stranger, so you probably don't wanna talk about it with someone you don't know. It's your ch-"

"Are you new here?" Annabeth says, stroking her arm. "I don't think I've seen you around."

The man blushes, which is endearing to Annabeth in a way she can't explain. This was almost better than screaming to early 2000s pop-punk. "Uh," he says, pushing a hand through his floppy hair. "Yeah. I moved in yesterday. Apartment 201."

She nods her head. "Well, it's been nice talking to you, neighbor. I have somewhere to be, probably somewhere loud and full of rage, like Apartment 203. I'll see you around?"

Again, she goes to close her door when the man rushes to stick his foot in the threshold before she can. She rolls her eyes and leaves it cracked open a bit. He's inches from her face when she looks through it.

"I'm down to talk if you want to," he says, dark green eyes darting about her face. "I only have a few boxes left to unpack."

Annabeth smirks, and in with a flood of bravery, she leans a little closer into him. He smells like cardboard, and his eyes widen. "You're cute. I'll keep that in mind."

She finally closes then locks her door, leaning against its back, breathing.

She feels better.

She turns her radio up again.

* * *

She's halfway across the lobby when she hears him call out for her.

He doesn't say her name, because she forgot to give it to him, so it's more of a "hey, wait!" and a tap on the shoulder kind of situation that gets her attention.

"Hey yourself," she says. "Ever finish unpacking?"

He looks better than he did yesterday (which is hardly at all a feat but noted). His jeans fit in all the right places, and his sweater only has one string coming undone. His hair, while still a mess, works on his side this morning. His eyes were still as green as ever.

He was definitely more handsome in the daylight.

"Not really," he says, sticking a hand in his pocket. "I couldn't bring myself to it."

Annabeth hides her smile behind a bitten lip and continues her walk out the doors of the lobby, beckoning for him to follow.

It's nine in the morning in New York City, which already means the city is busy as ever. A yellow taxi whizzes past the two as they step between the cracks in the sidewalk. A series of car horns and engines make a cacophony that carries itself from Queens to Brooklyn. The pigeons in front of her building have already started their daily ravish on a half-eaten slice of what could only be Joe's Pizza. She could tell by the thinness of the crust and the oozing dark red sauce caking the fattest pigeon's beak.

"That's a shame," Annabeth says, gripping the strap of her faux leather bag. "Good thing there were only a few boxes left."

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, and he looks away. She doesn't know the kid's deal, but he's interesting. More interesting than her last neighbor for sure, though she never did figure out why he had always had packages of stuffed animals at his door.

Annabeth counts two moments of silence between the two. Annabeth runs a hand down the front of her skirt.

"What's your name?" the man asks. He fidgets with his fingers. "It's been killing me since last night."

Annabeth raises an eyebrow and hums to herself, threading her fingers through her tangled blonde curls. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I think I'll actually die if I don't know."

"That's not true."

He stops on the sidewalk, yet her Adidas carry her forward, not letting him see how much fun she had teasing him. He was flustered, and Annabeth loved it. She felt, dare she say, giddy. Like a schoolgirl.

He jogs to catch up with her, grasping her arm. "Please? I'll do anything."

It's Annabeth's turn to stop on the sidewalk; she faces the man whose name she also does not know. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and reaches her hand out to caress his bicep. "Anything?"

He looks right at her, and she notices the freckles dusted along his perfectly sloped nose. The sun is golden in the strands of his hair.

She laughs, breaking their gaze. "I'm teasing you," she says, continuing their trek down the street. To their right is an antique store, dark stone walls extending towards the sky, the door outlined in spray painted gold. A pair of cats sit on its stoop, one black and one blonde, the black one laying its head on top of the others. She grins.

"Right," he says, falling into step again. "I knew that."

"Did you?"

"I did."

Today is Tuesday, which meant Annabeth was free from any obligations. She had no work, no class, and she managed to finish her paper in the middle of her mental breakdown. She dedicated today to herself, which proves not have been going well seeing as this strange man was tagging along.

But she finds she doesn't mind.

Annabeth finally makes a definite stop at the coffee shop on the corner of the street, the scent of her favorite bean wafting in the air and making her feel warm before she walks through the glass doors. The bell rings as if to greet her. The man follows.

The coffee shop is, like most things on this street and unlike most things in this city, quaint. A smattering of couples and individuals sit on cushioned seats type on sleep laptops perched on mahogany tables, sipping on mocha-whatsits and chewing on crumbly pastry-whatevers.

"Since you're new to the neighborhood," she says, taking a low table by the shops front window. The man slides in across from her and adjusts the sleeves of his sweater. "This is the best coffee shop on the block. It's never too busy, and they have free WiFi, so that's a win-win already."

She drapes her bag along the back of her seat and crosses one bare leg over the other, resting her chin in her hand and watching the man across from her. She can tell he's nervous. It radiates through him, or maybe it was his shifty eyes. He taps on the table. He finally looks up at her.

"Yes?"

She sits back in her chair. "Nothing. I'm observing."

She smiles at him, and again, he blushes. He blushed so easily. She doesn't know what to make of this.

"If you buy me a coffee, I'll tell you my name."

His eyes grow wider. They were green, her favorite color, so what if she decided it right then. "Really? What do you want?"

She places her hand over his and feels him stiffen under her. Her hand hardly covers his. "Guess."

She follows the movement of his prominent Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Alright. I'll be back."

He walks up to the barista, a girl with dark hair and tan skin. Her eyes dart over to Annabeth, and she raises an eyebrow. Annabeth shrugs at her, then looks over to the man as he fumbles for his wallet. The cashier visibly swallows her laughter.

She can't help but watch. Her curiosity claims her, and she wants to know everything about him. She wants to know about his life. She wants to know about his past. She wants to know why he had a scar under his right eyebrow, and she wants to know why he wanted to know her so badly.

Three minutes and a long deliberation later, the man returns to their table and takes his seat, patting down his blue sweater. It looks so charming he couldn't have picked it out himself, and she tells him.

"Thanks," says the man, squaring his shoulders. "My mom got it for me."

"Tell your mom she has an amazing sense of fashion."

He grins the grin Annabeth couldn't get enough of, and his eyes crinkle a bit in the corners. "I will."

The clinking of coffee cups and the low murmur of the few people fills their silence. Annabeth spent the majority of her time in this coffee shop second only to her apartment. After her friend, Piper, the barista at the register, got a job there, she hardly left the place. The scent of coffee had to be her favorite scent ever. It put Piper a little off when Annabeth would sniff the air whenever they hung out.

"Coffee for Percy," says Piper, holding up a mug of steaming dark coffee.

The man gets up and makes his way to the order station. Percy. She tested it on her tongue. Percy. Percy with the tall build and dark hair and green eyes.

She likes that.

Percy and Annabeth.

Annabeth and Percy.

Their names fit together better than she wanted them to.

Percy sets the cup in front of her, and the warmth opens up her sinuses. It's black. She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Black?" she asks, taking the mug by the handle and holding it to her lips. "I love black coffee."

Percy licks his bottom lip, and Annabeth's eyes immediately dart to the movement. "I figured. You seem like a black coffee kinda woman."

Annabeth's eyes crinkle as she tips the cup back and lets the warmth of the drink run down her throat. Her eyes flutter closed in bliss. She feels like an engine being kickstarted, and the low hum builds up within her.

She sets the cup back down. "My name is Annabeth," she says, running her finger around its rim. "Annabeth Chase."

Percy finally looks settles in his seat across from Annabeth Chase. Their faces are feet apart, and Annabeth can almost smell his cologne over her coffee.

Their eyes meet for half a second before Annabeth looks down at the table. She takes another sip of her coffee. He was quite handsome. She stops herself — or tries to stop herself — from thinking about running her fingers along his jawline, down his neck, along his collarbone. She brings the coffee to her lips again to stop him from noticing her blushing face.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he says, winking and letting his ears go red once again. Annabeth laughs.

"Thanks. Let me buy you a coffee, Percy."

* * *

"So who was he?" Piper says when Annabeth swings by her dorm later that evening. "You've never brought a guy to our shop."

Annabeth rolls her eyes as she sits criss-cross on the bean bag in the corner of her room. "He's my neighbor. He moved in the day before yesterday."

Piper stretches out upside down on her bunk bed. "You're never friendly with your neighbors."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Yeah right," Piper says. "You're the most antisocial person I know. You totally wanna bone him."

Annabeth scoffs, burying herself into the bean bag. "Do not. He's cute at best; besides, I don't bone people."

"I thought you were turning over a new leaf."

"Not like that!"

Piper flips herself over, hair falling into her face. "But it could be. He's kinda your type: tall, strong jaw, messy hair. A bit skater boy. I'm not into it, but you totally could be."

Annabeth narrows her eyes at her friend, who simpers. "I hate you."

"You love me." Piper climbs down the ladder and throws herself on the chair next to Annabeth. "And you could love _hiiiim_."

Annabeth grabs the pillow resting in her lap and throws it at Piper. She hates that she catches it with ease. "I could not. He's too… too…"

"Perfect for you?"

Annabeth adjusts the ponytail she put her hair into. "Too awkward. You saw how he ordered the coffee."

"He told me you made him guess. Pretty impressive he got your order right."

"Lucky guess. You probably told him."

Piper crosses her arms, pouting. "I did not! Give the guy some credit."

Annabeth runs her hands down the front of her plaid skirt and sighs. She should give him more credit for that. He already got the hang of her coffee order quicker than her ex-boyfriend ever did. Plus, the guy exuded more than cuteness. She never knew how much a sweater could enhance someone's beauty until a living example sat right in front of her. He was hot, or maybe she had a thing for nerdier looking guys. She didn't know.

But lord, his smile.

"I like his name," offers Annabeth. "He has a cool name."

Piper considers this over her bottle of half empty, blue Gatorade. "Yeah. Percy. It sounds like the name of a gladiator."

This makes Annabeth laugh as she squirms into the soft cushion that was the bean bag chair. She thinks she should invest in them someday. She'll run her own bean bag chair emporium in her retirement, a dollar per five minutes of sitting time. Maybe it would be free. She has about 45 years to think about it.

"I guess," Annabeth says, wrapping her arms around her chest. "But anyway. What do tonight's plans entail? You didn't call me over just to talk about Percy, did you?"

"Of course not," Piper says, leaning hard against the back of her chair. "That totally fails the Bechdel test. I came to you because I have a situation."

Piper gets up and takes the two steps it takes to get into her closet. A few seconds later she returns with an outfit on either arm. "I'm going to a party Friday night, and I have no idea what to wear."

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "It's Tuesday. You have several days to decide."

"Yeah, but I like to be prepared. So which one?"

Annabeth bites her lip. "The red top with the dark jeans. Red looks good on you."

Piper smiles and her pointy canine teeth stick out in its endearing way. "Thanks. I was leaning towards that anyway." She lays the outfit on her desk and tosses the other to the ground in a pile. "You should come. Tons of people will be there. A perfect way to truly turn over that antisocial leaf."

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. "I don't know."

"C' mon, Beth. We never hang out anymore."

"We're hanging out right now, dude."

"This hardly counts."

Annabeth starts to remark, but she stops herself. Piper was right. Even though the turning over a new leaf thing was a total lie, it wasn't so bad to get herself out there. So far, new opportunities have turned out. Who's to say the streak won't keep going?

Annabeth says, "I'll think about it," instead.

And think about it she does.

* * *

Two days later there's a knock at her door.

Which is strange considering it's seven in the morning and that when she opens the door, no one's there.

She peers out into the hallways and looks left and right, and she nearly goes back into her buttered toast and orange juice when she steps one fuzzy slippered foot onto a piece of notebook paper lying on her doorstep. Against her better judgment, she picks up the paper and unfolds it, revealing a brief paragraph scribbled with a Sharpie:

_I made too much breakfast with no one to share it with. Care to join? - Percy_

(Next to his name is something scribbled out, and Annabeth flatters herself thinking it was a heart. It's endearing to think he thought the heart was too forward.

She would accept it either way.)

So, not minding she looked like she just woke up, she pulls up her hair and knocks on his door.

Seeing Percy in nothing but an apron and a pair of gray sweatpants was not something Annabeth was prepared to see that Thursday morning, but she couldn't say she wasn't grateful.

"Good mornin'," Percy says, opening his door wide. "I hope you like pancakes."

And like, Annabeth would almost make a remark about how waffles were far superior if she weren't so distracted by the way his biceps flex as he grips the doorknob.

(She checks to see if she's drooling.

And, thank goodness, she isn't.

But she settles with an "mhm," and steps through the door before she could start.)

There's batter on his cheek, but she keeps that fact to herself as she walks in.

His apartment is... homey. While it has the exact same floor plan as hers, his sofa, gray and old in color, is placed in the dead center of his living room, and it faces a small TV and one matching loveseat. His walls are bare, minding the poster of Iron Man hanging next to his door. Against the bar below the window into his kitchen is one stool with a box on it, a recurring theme with the rest of the room.

Percy shuts the door behind them, giving Annabeth an unobstructed view of a tattoo inked into his perfectly broad back. It's a word, but she's too far away to tell what it is.

So she asks because she's heard of no such thing as "minding your own business."

The corners of his mouth quirk up as his hands slide into the pockets of his sweatpants. "It's my baby sister's name. Estelle. She just turned four."

Annabeth would be the last person to admit that her heart did a little flip at that, but there was definitely a little churn in her stomach at the smile that graced his full lips afterward.

"Happy belated birthday to her, then," Annabeth says, falling against the back of the sofa. "Estelle is a lovely name."

"Yeah."

Annabeth sucks her teeth, and her eyes rescan his room.

"Quite a humble abode you have here," she says. "Though, the boxes kinda ruin the aesthetic."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, maybe one day I'll have time to take care of that. But for now, I'm too focused on taking care of breakfast."

With that, he leads her to the kitchen, which is inasmuch a chaotic state as she expected. Puddles of pancake batter cover his counter and on his oven is a big blue bowl of it. There's a pile of dishes in the sink opposite the corridor, and a heap of bacon threatens to topple into it.

"Looks like you've been busy," she says, leaning against his only closed cabinet door. "Do you like cooking?"

She watches as he moves to the stove and flips a pancake with criminal ease. "You could say that," he says, the shallowest part of his dimple making an appearance. He wipes his hand on the bottom of his apron. "My mom got me into it, really."

He flips another pancake, and it's borderline sexy how perfectly browned they are.

"I bet the girls are all over you."

He catches her eye and winks. His ears turn as red as her cheeks feel. "Not really," he says, plating a pancake for her. "But I hope you like them. They're my specialty."

"That explains the blue then."

He shrugs. "Yeah, kind of. My mom would make me blue pancakes when I was younger."

There's a pang somewhere deep in Annabeth's chest, and she knows exactly why. "That's sweet," she says. "My mom was never... around like that."

That's not something she'd admit to people she's known for months, let alone days. She cringes a little bit when she looks towards Percy, but his gaze shimmers with nothing but understanding.

"I'm sorry, but I get it. I never knew my biological dad, but I did have a stepdad when I was younger." He plates a pancake and hands it to her. "He was... kind of an ass. He's the reason behind the pancakes, really. He didn't believe in blue food, so my mom and I would make as food blue as we could." He shrugs. "It's stupid, but-"

"Percy," Annabeth cuts him off, "it's not stupid. That's really sweet. I bet blue food tastes better anyway."

He chuckles. "You'd be right about that. Blue's my favorite color for a reason."

Without another word, she shoves a piece into her mouth.

It's almost as heavenly as watching Percy cook the damned things.

"This has to be the best thing I've ever had," she says, shoveling another forkful down her throat. "Jesus, what's your secret?"

Percy rolls his pretty green eyes, and Annabeth's heart does a little cartwheel. "I don't know. Love."

Annabeth tries a sarcastic laugh, but it's stifled by the amount of pancake in her mouth.

Percy plates himself a pancake or three, and Annabeth only has one qualm with it all.

"The only thing wrong with them is the fact that they aren't waffles."

Percy, who'd been standing directly across the corridor from her and leaning against the oven, stiffens a bit. "What?"

Annabeth shrugs her shoulders and puts another piece between her teeth. "Well, if you made waffles they couldn't have been blue, because I'm pretty sure that's a disease but-"

Percy exhales loudly through his nose, but the muscles in his arms tense a bit. Annabeth's face feels warm.

"I just think it's funny that you think pancakes are inferior to waffles."

Annabeth's head shoots up, and the two lock eyes in that kitchen at 7:32 in the morning. A smile creeps onto Annabeth's face, and she sets the plate on the counter to fix her ponytail.

"You don't want to get into this with me, Percy whatever your last name is."

He sets his plate on the stovetop and crosses his arms over the printing of his "I Like Big Buns" apron. "It's Jackson," he says, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. "And I think I do."

"I was captain of the debate team in high school, Jackson. I only ever lost once."

"I guess I'm about to make that twice."

His eyes sparkle with mischief Annabeth doesn't dislike, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Her hands stay folded at the base of her stomach as she takes a step forward.

"First of all," she says, "waffles are way easier to make. Waffles irons do all the work for you, while pancakes are so easy to mess up they aren't even worth the risk."

Percy chuckles a fake chuckle, and he counters her step with one of his own. "Which means that when one masters a pancake, the more accomplished one will feel."

"What, are you Yoda now?"

"A wise fellow, Yoda is."

Annabeth bits hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing, and Percy's quite serious glower doesn't help her case. She clears her throat.

"Pancakes get soggy way too fast."

"You can eat multiple pancakes at once. They're meant to be stacked."

"Waffles don't need to be stacked to be enjoyed. Plus, they hold toppings better."

"Pancakes are far superior when it comes to add-ins. You can't add chocolate chips to a waffle."

"Waffles don't need the add-ins to be tasty. Besides, you can put them all on top."

Annabeth takes another step closer, and the smirk on Percy's face grows as he takes one too. Three linoleum tiles lay between them.

"Waffles require special tools to make them; all pancakes need is a pan and a stove."

"Waffles can be savory, so they're good with any meal. Chicken and waffles. Need I say more?"

"I think you need to say more. I'm not quite convinced."

She wants to punch the smugness from his voice as he stands a good four inches over her and the fluorescent lights of his kitchen suddenly feel ten times hotter when she realizes that they were almost nose to nose now. She could count every eyelash on his eyelids and every occurrence of the color blue in his green eyes that flickered down to her mouth covered in sticky maple syrup and back to her face.

"Waffles totally revolutionized the ice cream game. You've never heard of "pancake" cones. That sounds stupid."

All she had to do was lean in a few centimeters before her mouth touched his. She knows that, and she knows he knows that too.

"Pancakes are better at soaking up syrup."

"Which only calls for its reapplication. Refer to my earlier point; waffles hold toppings better."

Her breath hitches as his nose brushes hers, and her eyes search his. She's never seen such an intense color, aside from her own. And they moved. Like the sea.

"You can spread butter on a pancake easier than a waffle."

"I don't even like butter on my waffles."

"Of course you don't like butter on your waffles."

Both huff, playfully angry, and Annabeth jabs a finger into his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead, he laughs and grabs at her hand, pulling her in closer. She braces her other hand against his chest as he moves one hand to her waist.

"You're so cute when you're angry."

"I won't be so cute when my foot is shoved up your ass."

"Ever considered that I might be into that?"

"You disgust me, Percy Jackson."

And despite it all, Annabeth finds herself leaning in closer and closer until Percy's breath is hot against her face, and their lips brush for only a second-

Before Percy's phone rings loudly to the sound of Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven.

Both of their eyes fly open, and before Annabeth can register what happened, he's across the kitchen answering his cell. A furrow settles in his brow at the same time one settles in hers, but when he runs a hand through his hair and falls back against his counter, she realizes he's frustrated for a different reason. He glances at her and grimaces with an "okay," to the person on the other end of his call and hangs up.

The kitchen floor is cold and jolting as Annabeth moves again. Percy comes up to her with an apology written over his face. "I'm sorry," he says, untying his apron. "My boss just called." He hangs his apron on the hook next to his refrigerator. "They need me to go in early."

Annabeth takes a few deep and silent breaths to cool off the burning in her stomach and shakes her head. "It's fine. I get it."

He slips his cell phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and stands across the corridor of the kitchen. Both of their arms are folded over their chests, pancakes, and almost-kisses all but forgotten.

"I should go," Annabeth says, reaching up to readjust her ponytail. "I should probably let you go too."

She crosses the kitchen and is through its entrance before Percy grabs her arm. She looks back at him. His face is full of remorse, regret, want. She doesn't know.

"I'm really sorry," he says, interlocking their fingers (and it's the romantic in her that notices how her hand fits perfectly in his). "I promise I'll make it up to you."

Again, Annabeth shakes her hand, forcing a small smile. "Percy, it's fine. Thank you for the breakfast. I really appreciate it."

She lets go of his hand, and he walks her to his door. Annabeth struggles to not feel disappointed, but she can't help it; she wants to kiss this handsome, sweet, amazing person she'd consider a friend at this point, not considering the fact that she doesn't know much of anything except his name and his love for his mother's cooking.

She wants to get to know more than that as much as she wants to press her mouth against his.

"I'll see you later, right?" he says, the both of them lingering in his doorway. He looks at her lips again. It takes everything in her not to push him back onto his sofa and leaves hickeys all over his dark skin.

Pull yourself _together_, Annabeth.

(But wouldn't he kiss her already?)

"For sure," she says, backing into the hallway. "Later."

She's back in her apartment with the door shut before he can close his own door, and she leans against the back of it, out of breath.

Percy would be the death of her.

* * *

"I think I'm falling in love."

Annabeth buckles herself into the passenger's seat of Piper's Lexus and tosses her overly stuffed backpack into the backseat already full of chicken nugget boxes.

"You can't fall in love with inanimate objects, Piper."

Piper sighs and pulls the car into reverse, her other hand caressing the leather steering wheel cover.

"I can and am."

"You've had this car for two days," Annabeth says, tossing her hair back up into a saggy ponytail. "It's impossible to fall in love in two days."

"Says you. You've never been in love." Piper adjusts her rear-view mirror and pulls out of her "reserved" (meaning she claimed the space with a piece of purple chalk) parking space near NYU's science department. "I've decided to call her Cher."

Annabeth crosses her hands behind her head and leans forward to let the air conditioning dry her damp armpits caused by this early May, New York day. "Like the singer?"

"No, like from Clueless. Since when have I listened to Cher?"

"I don't know, you listen to a lot of things. You can go from listening to TLC to Clairo within two songs."

Piper turns into the main road and it was only then did Annabeth remember how awful of a driver Piper McLean was: she always went at minimum ten miles above the speed limit, cut off drivers like nobody's business, ran more red lights than she could count on both hands and completely ignored one-way street signs, but Annabeth prides herself in remaining calm whenever Piper took the wheel.

(But there were times where she prayed that Jesus would.

And she wasn't even religious.)

"And what about it? I happen to like my music taste," Piper says, swerving violently left to avoid the pothole in which they dubbed Mr. D, after Piper's old neighbor, because it was huge and didn't do anything but cause problems (and would continue to cause problems into the foreseeable future because the part of Manhattan they lived in didn't give nearly as much of a crap about their streets as they did about arresting illegal hot dog vendors).

As Annabeth kicks off her sneakers and props her feet onto the dash, Piper glares daggers into the side of Piper's head. "I'll hate you forever if you ruin my brand new car with permanent feet smell."

"You know you love me," Annabeth muses, ignoring Piper's look of disgust. "More than the car, right?"

"You're lucky I do." Piper pats the dashboard. "But Cher is catching up. I'd step up my game, Beth."

Annabeth gasps, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a smirk. "Fine. Since you let my sweaty butt in your brand new car, Mickey D's, my treat."

Piper nods, her choppy pigtail braids bouncing against her shoulders. "Deal."

It was Friday, the day after the event she'd from now on reference as Doomsday, or the day she and Percy nearly made out on his kitchen counter, and she'd been avoiding seeing him like the plague.

It's not that she didn't want him - gods, all she ever wants to _do _was want him these days - but she didn't know what to do. Annabeth didn't fall for guys so quickly, especially ones she'd only met the Monday before and had two kinda-dates with. Especially ones with hair that refused to take a comb, especially ones with the color blue being the only thing in his wardrobe, especially ones with mysterious jobs and rock songs from the 60s as ringtones.

She wants to slam her head against the dashboard.

"So," Annabeth says as Piper turns into a McDonald's drive-thru. "You know how you call me a social outcast or whatever because all I ever do is work and school?"

Piper leans out of her car window to place her order ("can I get two large fries, and like, a dozen or so ranches on the side?") before turning back to Annabeth. "Yeah?"

"Well, I've decided that I'm going to the party tonight."

"Really?" Piper says, raising a questioning eyebrow as she drove to the next window. "Why?"

"I figured that I need the distraction from... life."

Annabeth hadn't even told Piper what happened like she didn't want to acknowledge that it really happened, but her heart started racing whenever she even thought about him. What was it about him? She's made out with a number of guys before, had her fair share of boyfriends at her composite age of 20 years old. Percy could've been like... 40 for all she knew.

She doesn't think she would even care if he was 40, she was so attracted to him.

But maybe going to this party would let her mind free from Percy. Grinding on a few other guys, exploring what was really out there for her as a college-aged girl that wasn't her hot, mysterious neighbor.

Piper shoves Annabeth's arm, a wide grin spreading across her face. "I'm proud of you. What are you wearing?"

Annabeth fights the blush creeping up her neck. "Wearing?"

Piper beckons for money, and Annabeth pulls a few dollars out of her wallet. She hands them to the server at the window. "Yeah, wearing. You gotta dress to impress; you're not showing up in those shorts, are you?"

Annabeth glances down at her Nike shorts (that were steadily becoming too short and the waistband was stretched beyond repair) and back at Piper. "No. Of course not."

Piper clicks her long nails against the front of her steering wheel. "Then what are you wearing?"

"I have that old-"

"If you say that striped sweater, I will kill you. Spongebob lied. The best time to wear a striped sweater is not all the time."

Annabeth snaps her mouth shut.

Piper grabs the bag of food dangling from the employee's hand, hands it to Annabeth, and thanks him before driving off again. "I'm just saying, you've done that poor sweater to death. It's old, and every time you wear it, a new hole forms in the pit. Do you want to show up at this party with holey pits?"

Annabeth shakes her head before reaching into the bag and popping a fry into her mouth. "No."

"Besides, I'm 100% sure there will be at least one cute guy at this party, and frankly, Beth, you need some action. So… how but I come over and help you pick something out."

Annabeth contemplates over another fry.

And by contemplates, she didn't even wait to finish chewing before she answers yes.

Piper, as much as Annabeth thought her grandpa flannels were hideous, had a good sense when it came to fashion for other people. She had picked out Annabeth's prom dress, did her makeup for her sweet 16, and even helped her mom choose her shoes for her next proposal meeting.

Annabeth, on the other hand, was completely hopeless when it came to anything that she had to put on her body.

And God knows, she needs… "action," or whatever.

"Cool," Piper says with a grin. "Food and Beauty. My two favorite things."

Annabeth smiles, rummaging around the bag emitting a smell that was near mouth-watering.

"They only put five ranches in here, by the way."

"Oh, those motherfu-"

* * *

"I feel like we're in one of those movie makeover montages," Piper says, skimming through Annabeth's closet. "Drab to fab. Not to hot. Except the main character was already totally hot, but it wasn't… accentuated. Is that the word?"

"Mhm," Annabeth hums, tossing an old Vogue issue she'd been flipping through onto her bed. "Like Brendan Fraser in Encino Man?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, but sure."

It's an hour later, and the two girls found themselves in Annabeth's apartment with mini food babies and nerves zapping through their fingertips. And it may have just been Annabeth with the nerves, but she couldn't help it: this was her first actual party, and she wants everything to go as smoothly as possible.

And by "as smoothly as possible," she just hops she wouldn't hurl her fries.

Piper comes back from her retreat in Annabeth's closet with two outfits draped over each arm.

"Okay, you have a total of maybe two good pieces in there," she says, laying both outfits on Annabeth's desk. "Remind me to take you shopping, like, ASAP. This is not acceptable."

As Piper continues to ramble about Annabeth's lack of any fashion sense and her abundance of Walmart clearance section t-shirts, Annabeth glances over her choices.

Option one was a pair of high waisted, black denim shorts and a striped tank top so old it began collecting dust in the back of her closet. She didn't remember buying either (and she wouldn't doubt if Piper had slipped them into her closet when she was sleeping), but it was safe.

Option two was… not so much.

"Alright, in what world would I ever wear this?"

Piper stops mid-rant and looks toward the blonde, fist clutching a stretchy tube dress and a pair of fishnet stockings.

"It's cute," Piper pouted.

"Yeah, for some sort of hooker. I'm going to a house party, not the strip club."

"Is there really a difference?" Piper asks, leaning against one of Annabeth's bedposts. "I mean, you've seen the pictures. Might as well dress the part."

Annabeth buries the outfit in the bottom of her laundry hamper, where she hopes to never see it again. "Very funny, Piper. But I'll stick with option one, thanks."

Piper shrugged. "Your call. But I think you need to change up your look a little. Your style is a bit tired, isn't it?"

Annabeth wasn't sure at which point in the succeeding two hours she went wrong, but she definitely blames it on the nail polish fumes.

"Okay," Piper says, setting her scissors down carefully on the bathroom counter. "I'm going to turn you around and show you, and if you hate it, please don't freak or anything. Hair grows back."

Hair. The hair she's been working on for the past twelve years.

Annabeth stares at the piles of blonde curls on the bathroom floor in disbelief. In her entire life, she only cut her hair once, in her room with a pair of safety scissors when she was five, and even then it was maybe an inch long near the nape of her neck. Letting her best friend handle a pair of scissors anywhere near her face? Surely, she was going insane.

"Alright," Annabeth says, mouth dry. "Show me."

Piper grabs her shoulders and spun her around.

Annabeth blinks rapidly at the girl in the reflection. And…

… she didn't hate it.

Her hair ends bluntly just at her shoulders in such a way that looks by no means professional but was better than anything she could've done herself. She notices things she'd never notice otherwise, like the fact she has ears that may have been double pierced once upon a time (aka the only other irrational thing she's ever done. She was 13, okay?), or that her curls are a lot more ringlet-y than frizzy, or that her jawline is a lot sharper and pronounced than she'd once thought, or that her gray eyes are a lot more startling when the attention was brought away from her mane of hair.

"Do you like it?" Piper asks nervously as Annabeth sat silently in front of her.

Annabeth opens her mouth to speak but no words came out. Of course, she likes it. She loves it. It might not have been the most rational decision, and she'd definitely regret it later, but for now…

"It's different," Annabeth says finally, reaching to run her fingers through it. She's almost surprised when she runs out of hair to run through.

"Different good, or different bad?"

She pulls a couple of her curls and watches them spring back into place. "Different good. Definitely different good."

Piper beams, a wave of relief flooding through her. "Good. I think it suits you."

"I think so too."

The party is in someone's great grandparents' estate 30 minutes outside of town, and that sentence brought worry Annabeth didn't even know was possible.

She feels even weirder adjusting the denim shorts riding up her thighs as she steps onto the property. The MoMA has nothing on this place, and she's studied the ins and outs of that building more times than she can count on both hands.

Dirty fingers and bodies rub all against the stone pillars by the house's entrance; she avoids the broken bottle laying on the marble stairs, and she nearly crashes into Piper when a pair of already drunks ram into the mahogany stained door frame. Everything in her wills her not to puke at the disrespect where she stood.

The crowd was big when she got there and still grows at a linear rate when she steps through the door. She instantly goes to clutch Piper's arm so she doesn't get swept away by the stampede of a swim team rushing to watch a dude do a keg stand in the guest bedroom.

"Is it too late to go home?" Annabeth asks, nails digging into Piper's arm. "I kinda wanna go home."

Rolling her eyes, Piper takes Annabeth by her wrist and guides her through the crowd of moist teenagers, shuddering as a stray hand touches her shoulder or a stray foot steps on her toes. A girl with blotchy purple lipstick snarls at her like a lion would snarl at his prey, a joint dangling dangerously from her lips. She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have-

It was a breath of fresh - well, musty, but fresher than humidity due to sweat - air when they broke into the kitchen harboring significantly fewer people munching on pizza rolls and pulling foiled leftovers out of the fridge.

Annabeth's gaze sweeps over the kitchen. Marble countertops, high, pale wooden cabinets, tile floor. It was so big she could barely see the other side. A chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. Her stomach churns with preemptive regret.

Piper (in resemblance to someone who may have been in charge of the place) tears open the six pack of bright green beer bottles sitting on the kitchen counter next to the sink, taking a bottle for herself and handing another to Annabeth.

"Tip number one," Piper says, shoving her car key she's produced from her back pocket under the bottle's cap, popping it open. She grabs the bottle from Annabeth. "You don't really have to drink, but it could help you loosen up a bit." She pops the bottle open. "And even if you don't want to, people will think you're drinking and it'll help loosen up your image."

Piper waves her drink in the air and takes a swig.

Annabeth rotates the beer in her hand. The last time she even remotely came close to alcohol was when she locked up a cheap bottle of Pinot Noir under the kitchen sink because her dad would have drunk the whole bottle if she hadn't.

So that to say, she's not a big fan of what alcohol does to people.

And yet, she cheers to nothing and follows Piper's lead.

* * *

She's somewhere past two beers and a nap on a sofa when she hears the shatter of a plate and a guy yell, "Scatter!" in the middle of the living room.

Needless to say, she's very much so awake as many young adults book it for any exit possible.

She sits up groggily, head pounding and bones wobbly. She runs a hand through her hair and almost jumps when she runs out of hair to run through. The sound of dozens of pairs of shoes hitting the wood floor and out of the back and front doors echo around her head, and she clasps her hands over her ears. Her stomach churns.

As she's puking into a potted cactus, there's a faint sound of a siren outside. By now, the living room is almost clear apart from the few people completely crashed as she had been moments ago, but there are drunken shouts and the metallic clanging of handcuffs and the static shouts of a police officer through a megaphone telling people to stay where they are.

Yet, instead of coming outside or perhaps joining everyone in booking it, she slumps against the wall and tucks her head between her knees. She feels awful like her brain is convulsing and is about to explode. Her throat burns from the stomach acid currently seeping into the roots of a cactus (that she later realizes is fake, so she doesn't feel that bad).

So much for a party.

So much for "action."

She doesn't remember feeling particularly sad, but suddenly there are tears running down her face. She wants to go home. Where was Piper? Was she okay? Annabeth didn't have any other ride. She wants to go home. Why did the light hurt so much? She feels like she's gonna retch again. She wants to go home.

The front door bursts open, and she can detect a bright light through her closed eyelids. She picks up her head and opens her eyes. Three police officers stand at the door, the one of the middle holding an industrial flashlight and sweeping across the room. He's dressed in a dark navy blue from pretty much head to toe, and a police hat is perched on top of his blonde head. He doesn't look all that much older than Annabeth or any other partygoer if he was at all, and with the hand perched on his hip, he was most definitely trying to appear more experienced than he was not. Annabeth would've rolled her eyes if his sweep across the room didn't land directly on her.

The three of them looked directly at her, but she couldn't see much more than their shadowy figures. Instinctively, she raises her hands above her head, but her head falls against the wall.

She wants to go home.

"Are you okay?" The short one on the left says. He sounds younger than the one in the middle looks. His hair is vaguely curly, or her vision was just fuzzy.

Annabeth shrugs. "Genuinely? People never want a genuine answer to an "are you okay?""

The tall one on the right snorts, and something about it so familiar Annabeth isn't quite sure she is alright.

But for police officers, they didn't seem all big and scary with strong hairy mustaches and dip in their lips. They were all young like the department sent the rookies to the teen party because they couldn't be bothered to do it themselves.

Annabeth turns to puke in the cactus.

"Do you have a way home?" The tall one says, taking two steps forward. As Annabeth wipes a bit of stomach acid and stale beer from the corner of her mouth, she still can't make out much about him other than the fact that his voice is nice and so comforting she could almost cry. She didn't realize how much she didn't want a blip on her clean criminal record until now.

"I don't think so," Annabeth says with a lump in her throat. "You're not gonna arrest me, are you?"

The short one shakes his head. "Nah. We're just here to break the party up, and most everyone left already. We need to know if you'll be safe, though, and-"

"I'll take her home," the one on the right says. Annabeth raises an eyebrow, and she could tell the other officers felt similarly when they turned towards him. "You two can round up the other lingerers, right?"

The blonde one nods his head. "Uh, yeah. Or at least, I can. Valdez might get too distracted with the lure of free beer."

"It's a shame that you doubt me, Grace."

This time, Annabeth does roll her eyes and unfurls her legs that were much too long to keep scrunched up to her chest. Grace and Valdez continue to search the house as the remaining officer holds out a hand for Annabeth to take. He pulls her up with ease.

And their hands fit so well it's almost terrifying.

The dim lamps in the corners of the room and the flashing lights of the police cars outside provide just enough light for Annabeth to read the name tag pinned to the officer's chest.

Jackson.

Annabeth glances down at their intertwined fingers, then up to the slope of his nose and the brightness of his green eyes.

He lets go, and she can actually hear him swallow.

"Let's get you home, Annabeth."

* * *

She's not sure whether or not she's glad he let her ride in the passenger seat instead of the barred off backseat, but she's not sure if either really helped how car-sick she felt.

She was ticking time-bomb of puke, and with her finger pressed to the window button, she felt like she could blow any second.

Yes, it was gross, but she wasn't sorry.

The car ride home is almost completely silent if it wasn't for the cricket that meandered its way into the car, and its chirps drove her nearly as insane as Percy made her feel. She's not sure if she's mad, but she's definitely sick, and tired, and she wants to go home.

As she leans against the cool car window, clutching her stomach in pain, it's her that breaks the silence: "Why didn't you tell me you were a police officer?"

Percy glances over at her from his one hand at the 2 o'clock position of his steering wheel, which was completely unsafe for someone who was supposed to enforce the law. The other hand taps incessantly on the middle console, and it takes a lot of effort not to grab his hand to get him to stop. "I don't know. I guess it never came up."

Annabeth rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure how it hasn't, because I'm pretty sure I've never come across a police officer that didn't drone on and on about his time in the academy."

Annabeth snuggles deeper into the leather seats of his car, and she's so tired she could feel it in her bones. Percy chuckles a chuckle Annabeth could never get tired of. "Well, I guess that's not completely true, huh?"

Percy merges into the left lane with an ease that could only be exhibited by a truly good driver, in which Annabeth wasn't. The trees outside blur together, and suddenly, they're out of the woods and into the midst of her concrete jungle teeming with the scent of cheap pizza and gas and traffic at 10:07 pm. The lights are bright and yellow, and she can't even see the stars but the familiarity lulls Annabeth into a more sleepy than exhausted.

"I'm glad I know now," Annabeth says, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. "Officer Percy Jackson sounds super sexy."

Annabeth misses the blush that colors Percy's entire face, but she doesn't miss the way the streetlights bathe him in a glow that's almost angelic, ethereal even, so much so that she could almost ignore the crackling his radio or the chirps of the cricket or the honking of the horns and just focusing on him, there, the sweetest person she would probably ever meet. Tears prickle her eyes.

"There needed to be more kind hearts to infiltrate such a broken system," Annabeth says, rubbing the bottoms of her palms into her eyes. Stars appear behind her eyelids. "I couldn't think of a better person for the job."

Percy looks down at the girl curled up in his passenger seat somewhere between drunk and hungover, so completely adorable with her tiny yawn, and he smiles down at her.

"Thanks," he says, looking back up at the road. He makes a right on 5th Avenue, and even if every building is cast in neon sign red and billboard light pale yellow, Percy looks so much better in it. "That's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"How old are you?" She says instead, running her tongue over her bottom lip.

Percy quirks up an eyebrow. "21. Why?"

"Okay good." She picks at a string on her shirt. She felt her eyes begin to droop. "Because I'm 20, and it would be a little weird if I was so insanely attracted to someone who was like, 40. I didn't think you were, but I... I was just being safe. I mean, I guess since I'm legal it wouldn't really matter but there's that whole deal with ethics or whatever and I think there's a distinct power complex between someone who's old enough to be their girlfriend's dad but then again Paul Rudd is a whole 30 years older than me, and I wouldn't mind if he was my boyfriend. I also wouldn't mind if you were my boyfriend."

She's rambling, and she knows it, and she's not sure if she can blame it on the two beers in her system as much as the nerves she got being around him, but suddenly she's put herself out there, and there's no going back.

Annabeth turns her head out of the window to avoid his stare, but it's persistent against the back of her head without all her hair there to protect her.

"Annabeth-"

Annabeth shakes her head and holds out her hand to stop him. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean it like that. I think I have... beer-brain. That's a thing, don't question it."

The car falls silent, and Annabeth's nausea is pretty much replaced with butterflies flitting about her stomach. Officer Percy Jackson and his stupid hair and him looking stupid hot as he drove his stupid police car and his stupid kind heart taking her home like she was a stupid helpless baby deer but the wobble in her bones most definitely made her feel like one. It was stupid. All of it.

"I kind of wish you had kissed me," she murmurs, and though it was quiet, she had no doubt that he heard her. She thinks she wanted him to.

"I wish I had kissed you too."

His radio crackles with a confirmation that the scene at the estate had been all wrapped up, and it was pretty much the signal for this scene to be wrapped up too.

Neither said anything for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Annabeth wakes up in her own bed despite not remembering anything after the car ride home.

She looks down at herself. She's still in the striped top she left in last night, but her shoes are off, and she's covered with her comforter, a glass of water and a bottle of Advil sits on her nightstand.

And she cries.

She bawls, in her bed, makeup smeared all over her face, about this neighbor guy she's known for not even a week but cared so much more than people she's known her whole life.

Her head also just really hurt so she may have been crying about that.

An hour and a dulling headache later, she's at her local grocery store consulting a worker about which flowers meant "I really appreciate and adore you as a human being and you are everything I could ever want in a friend," with going completely overboard. The lady - Calypso, and she was so effortlessly gorgeous Annabeth couldn't help but feel a little jealous - looks at Annabeth skeptically.

"Are you sure you'd only call him a "friend?"" she asks in a voice so sugary sweet Annabeth's teeth almost rotted out of her head. "Because he sounds like someone who has everything you could want in, say, a life partner?"

Annabeth has no reason to be irritated with this girl who's been nothing but patient as Annabeth had been deliberating for the last 20 minutes, but between the fluorescent lights penetrating her sunglasses and the ache to curl up on her sofa and eat the Ben and Jerry's waiting for her in her freezer, irritability was flowing through her bloodstream.

"I mean, not really - we're just... friends. I don't like him like that."

But she didn't even believe herself.

Neither did Calypso, but she simply pressed her lips together with a slight nod. "Okay. How about these?"

She wraps her fingers around the stems of a bouquet bursting with large purple and tiny blue flowers, cradling them in her arms. "Irises and forget-me-nots," she says. "A classic choice."

They are beautiful together; the color choice just screams Percy, and the bouquet would fit nicely with his blue checkered tablecloth (and she's not sure why she remembered the color of his tablecloth when there were plenty other things going on that day).

"Those are… perfect, actually." Annabeth takes the bouquet from the woman. "What do they mean?"

The woman blushes and twists her dainty gold bracelet around her wrist. "I actually came up with the mix myself. The irises symbolize faith, wisdom, and hope for the future; the forget-me-nots symbolize loyalty and… lasting connections."

Lasting connections. Something Annabeth hasn't made in a long time. It's not like she had ever gotten the chance to, but she just… didn't understand the point. The only lasting connection she has was with Piper, who she had met only a year ago when they were roommates. Her mom was never in her life, and even though her dad was, he never all there. Moving from California to New York cut her off from all her high school friends, but she didn't miss them all that much. Lasting connections were unrealistic. People leave, grow apart, so why get close to someone if they weren't gonna always be there.

And Annabeth had always thought that way.

Until she met Percy.

And even if Annabeth only met Percy less than a week ago, had known him for five days, or 120 hours, or 7200 minutes, or 432,000 seconds, all she wanted to do was be around him. He never left her mind anyway.

She wanted nothing more than to form a lasting connection with him.

She thanks Calypso, that sweetheart, and lays her flowers amongst the loaf of bread and almond milk, maneuvering her basket between aisles and antsy shoppers towards the checkout lines.

* * *

She leaves the flowers outside of his door with a note tucked between the stems.

He's not home right now (because he usually doesn't come back till about 9 pm, no she did not memorize his schedule), but she puts the flowers in a vase of water so they don't shrivel up and die.

(She hopes her heart doesn't either.)

Then she goes to work at Rudy's, a diner two blocks from her house where'd she'd been waitressing for the past two years. It was a nice job for the most part, and people tipped well, but she can hardly do her job well when all she's thinking about is Percy getting her flowers.

"I'm fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten," says the lady in her pastel blue Sunday best, blazer ready to burst open out of both rage and the sheer mass of her bosom.

So, in all, Annabeth's Saturday night was going pretty great.

Really, she means, between the dishwasher that quit half an hour before her shift ended leaving her to wash the looming towers of dishes in the sink and the child whose crayons rolled under a booth throwing a temper tantrum and spilling Hi-C over the entirety of his table, this baboon of a woman was really the icing on the cake.

The cherry on the flipping top.

"Ma'am, I apologize but-"

"But?" she says, the spittle flying out of (the pie hole she called) her mouth landing millimeters from Annabeth's eye. "There are no 'buts' here! This is inexcusable! I'd like to speak with your mana-"

Ignoring the intense urge to stick her entire face in a vat of hand sanitizer, Annabeth's heart nearly fell out of her ass as she all but slapped her hand over the woman's mouth to keep the dreaded m-word from entering the atmosphere. "Lady, I can swear to you that there's no need for such-"

"Nonsense!" She scoffs, shoving his hand away and glaring at her with beady black eyes. "Though I'm sure if their employees are as rude as you are, they can't be much better."

Annabeth takes several labored breaths, clenching her fists in her pockets so hard she may have drawn blood.

Customer's always right her ass.

Plastering on the fakest smile she can muster at I-don't-have-time-for-this pm, she says, "Look. There isn't much my manager can do. All she can say is "hey, sorry you're overre- er, having an issue with the actual tiniest chip in the table, but there's absolutely nothing we can do at this moment, so you're gonna have to deal."

By the end of her shift at 10 pm, she's absolutely exhausted.

She waves goodbye to Katie, her coworker and the one person at work she could stand being around for extended periods of time, and she grabs her purse from the hook in the break room. The low mixes of some pop radio station flow through the speakers and carry her through the front door.

There's somebody waiting by her car.

The somebody is tall, with dark hair, and he's dressed in all blue like it was his favorite color. He's leaning against her passenger side door, and in his hands looks like a bouquet of flowers.

He notices her staring at him, and he waves.

The butterflies in her stomach are gigantic as they soar around her gut, and even with her hair hanging greasily around her shoulders and the pants of her uniform awkwardly bunching around her thighs, she walks up to him.

"Hey."

He thrusts the flowers at her. She looks down. Sunflowers. Her favorite.

"How did you-"

"Piper," he says, sticking his hand in his pocket. "She told me they were your favorite. She also told me you'd be here."

She screws up her face like she did when she was about to cry, and it was an ugly face, but she didn't want to cry right now. A series of crickets sound in the shrubs behind Percy.

"You didn't have to do this," she says. She fingers one of the flower's petals. "But they're beautiful."

Before she can register what's happening, Percy reaches out to tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "Just like you."

Even though her entire face went pink, she rolls her eyes. "You're so cheesy."

He retracts his hand, and Annabeth wishes she could say she didn't feel disappointed. "That's just what I do. Besides, I'd feel bad if I didn't get you anything back. I would've left them outside your door, but that's unoriginal at this point."

Her mouth curves into a smile. "I suppose. Did you like them?"

"Of course I did. Though I'm not nearly the hero you make me out to be; taking care of drunk girls is part of the job description."

And the two are there, leaning against Annabeth's 2002 Honda Civic, and she couldn't be happier, even with the scent of frying oil embedded in her hair.

Percy takes a small step forward. His hand finds hers. He searches her eyes earnestly like he was looking for something, and all her focus goes on trying not to explode into little flying insects.

"What are you doing?" Annabeth asks, biting her lip as to not freak him out with the biggest smile ever.

"You can make pancakes into any shape."

Annabeth tilts her head. "What?"

"Pancake art. It's a thing. There's no such thing as waffle art."

"Percy-"

He looks at her with a knowing grin, one that stops her heart every time, and something clicks in Annabeth's brain. She returns the gesture with a smirk of her own.

"The novelty of Mickey Mouse waffle irons makes up for it. Besides, you need actual talent to be a pancake artist."

The sun was steadily dipping below the horizon, and their figures cast long shadows over the parking lot. A light breeze picks up and ruffles Percy's hair. Annabeth shivers, and she wasn't sure if it was from the cold.

But when Percy steps a bit closer and interlocks their fingers, she's warm all over.

"Pancakes are more filling."

"Waffles are more crispy."

"Pancakes are softer."

"Waffles are… portable."

Percy laughs breathily, and without a second thought, Annabeth surges forward to close the gap between them. Percy makes a muffled sound and stumbles back a bit, but when Annabeth sets the flowers on top of her car to grab his face, it's seconds before he's finding his hands on her waist and kissing her back.

(In her head, she had imagined this scenario about a dozen times - on a walk in the park, at the coffee shop, even in the back of his cop car - but never once did she imagine this happening in the parking lot outside her job at some obscure hour of the night. She wasn't complaining, though.

He was just as good a kisser in real life.)

"Annabeth," he says against her mouth, and she loves how he says her name. "Can I tell you something?"

Annabeth nods and circles her arms around his neck. "Of course."

His green eyes sparkle and Annabeth has never felt more at home than right here.

"I've been waiting to do that all week."

* * *

**so yeah it's been over a year since i uploaded to this site and i'm only a bit sorry. school just got a bit... much, but now it's summer break! i just finished my sophomore year! yay! i am also number four out of the 500 something kids out of my grade and i was accepted to the national honor society! yay! to celebrate, i posted this story i worked on for a few months, my very first long-ish one shot. idk if i'll post more over the summer, but i might. idk. we'll see.**

**i hope you guys liked it! if so, feel free to leave some feedback! my pms are also always open! ya girl gets a little lonely, so if you want to be friends, hit me up! !**

**(update: there might be a part two in the works!)**

**until next time ~ Aja :)**


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